


Suspense

by Davechicken



Series: The Emperor and his Knight [5]
Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Consensual BDSM, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-09
Updated: 2016-04-09
Packaged: 2018-06-01 05:54:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6503563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Davechicken/pseuds/Davechicken
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Poe loves Kylo's clothes. He does. A LOT.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Suspense

The thing about functional things is they can also be attractive. There is an elegance in the necessary, in the essential. In the brutal efficiency, as well as the purely aesthetic. 

Poe can certainly appreciate his Knight’s clothing. Designed for comfort and motion whilst in combat, topped off with the rhetoric of fear in his dark-framed unface. The gloves add an elegance, and the supple leather creaks and groans when his Knight wields his saber. There are tooth marks in the fingers, at the pad of his thumb where Poe hasn’t been able to resist it. His lover looks _good_ in black.

The helmet is useful to protect his precious pet’s face, too. To make sure his features remain safe, and known only to him. He loves to hook his fingers under the leather plate, pull him in, and kiss above it so Kylo’s mouth runs over with wanting, and lick over the curves around his eyes. He loves to hear his harsh panting when he makes him keep the mask on as he fucks him, the desperate need for air as he rides his Knight to oblivion and back. 

If Poe had to pick his favourite part of Kylo’s outfit, though - other than a _complete lack of it -_ it would be those damn suspenders. For one, they hold his tight pants up and snug, and allow Poe’s eyes to wander over the shape of his lover’s thighs, groin and ass… traced tightly in a black prison so snug he could push his tongue into the crease of his crotch and feel his Knight’s blood pulse through the flesh below. That is a good use for them.

They also curl and coil around his shoulders, enhancing the natural strength barely fettered below. He has his Knight train stripped down to show them, when he has him work through his katas and exercises to his audience. Poe adores seeing how deadly and honed Kylo is: with his saber, with the Force, and with his whole _body_. The man is a killing machine, and nothing is more arousing than watching it first-hand.

Kylo spins his saber, the red-hiss light pattern an artform all of its own, but Poe can do nothing but watch the man behind the weapon. His arms are bare, only a tight black top under the elasticated Y-kiss, and those pants of his. His hands are still gloved, and his feet dance through the room in an attempt to woo him: a he-bird courting, displaying his plumage and prowess. Poe is already won over, but it does no harm to enjoy the show. 

When the sequence is over Kylo holds the hilt before him, eyes closed, his breathing lightly perked up. He holds, looks up to meet Poe’s eyes, and when he’s given the nod he deignites the weapon. It’s clicked to his belt, and in three long strides he’s in front of Poe’s plush chair. Kylo drops to kneel before him, head lowered, and lets his hair tumble submissively around his proud and beautiful face. 

“You have done very well, my Knight,” he enthuses, and tucks the dark curls behind an ear. The soft touch has Kylo trembling, and he loves how responsive he is: both to praise, and to contact. His lover craves both so deeply, and Poe is only too happy to give it to him.  


“Thank you, my Lord,” is the emotion-rough reply.   


“You have pleased me greatly,” he says. And he has. Here, kneeling. A powerful force of nature - a storm caught in his hand - genuflecting in respect and obedience. The slight glow around his stretched muscles, the way his chest expands as it takes in calming breaths. The hands clasped neatly over one knee, and his whole posture one of deference and readiness.  


Kylo _radiates_ his satisfaction and adoration. 

“Is the plug still neatly in you, keeping my load inside of you?”  


Kylo’s cheeks stain crimson then, matching his blade. “Yes, my Lord.”

“You didn’t work it free, or feel the need to remove it?”  


“ _No, my Lord_.”  


Poe knows he wouldn’t. The one time he did accidentally push a smaller plug out when being too strenuous in his daily life, Kylo had come to him in a panic, expecting punishment and too terrified of having disappointed him for it to really be pleasurable. It was nice to know how deeply Kylo felt, but also sad that he thought he would be punished for a genuine mistake, which was half Poe’s. That had kicked in the protective side of him, and he’d held Kylo by the throat and told him he would take care of him, fucking him roughly and praising his honesty, his devotion, his dedication. He’d taken him so hard they’d both been shaking, and resworn his oath to always keep him safe. 

Still, a little reminder of that - of the way they’d coupled so hard it had all but left bruises - went a long way.

Kylo trembles at the thought, and Poe slides his hand under his chin to lift his head up. “My precious pet. You’ve been so good. I’m going to reward you for that.”

“Thank you, my Lord.” His brown eyes are so warm and doting, and Poe can’t resist leaning down for a kiss. Kylo arches up to meet him, not wanting his Emperor to lean too much, and barely hisses at the rude bite to his lips.  


“Stand,” he says, and waits for him to comply.  


Kylo does, and keeps his head respectfully lowered. His breathing is even, but heavy. He’s already hard (and has been, since his Emperor made him start this session), but now he’s clearly fractious with it, too. Kylo would never touch himself without permission, would never even hump his leg, and that makes Poe so very proud. 

Poe rises, slowly, and puts a hand between Kylo’s shoulders. He pushes him forwards, and Kylo bends accordingly. His legs part a little as he’s bent further over, and then he gets with the picture and puts his hands above his locked knees to keep in position. It makes his calves tense beautifully, makes all of him tense, beautifully. The suspenders cut tight lines across him, and Poe uses the heel of his hand to grind hard into his ass, kneading his way down to the external plate of the plug through his tight pants. He knows the flare will drive Kylo crazy, but more will the knowledge that he’s still not come today. He’s carrying Poe’s last session inside, locked into place with the toy that keeps him open and hungry. With difficulty he pinches at the toy’s edge, tugging it and threatening to pull it out, though it can’t come out when he’s dressed. Kylo’s whole body shakes from it, and Poe holds the suspenders where they meet his pants. 

“M-my… Lord, I…”  


“What is it, my Knight?”  


“…I…” Kylo’s fighting, now, and he’s breathing less evenly. “ _Please, Master. Please will you fuck your pet again?”_  


Poe has already given his Knight permission to ask for things, though Kylo tends to take a perverse pride in _not_ , unless he **really** wants it, which means every time he’s reduced to it, it’s a precious gift.

“Do you think you deserve it?”  


Kylo shakes his head no. Poe wishes on some level that he wouldn’t.

“Then why should I?”  


“You shouldn’t.” There’s a pause, which Poe knows he will fill. “Unless it pleases you, too, Master.”  


“You don’t think such loyal service and devotion deserves my praise, my love?”  


And of course, this is part of it. Kylo cries in frustration, the two aspects of his personality warring out in the open. A nod that’s half shake, and he’s going so _under_ that it’s delicious. “Master…”

“You don’t think my only love deserves to feel me inside of him, for all his service, all his adulation?” Kylo likes the long words, the formality of it. Poe long since worked that out, and plays to his pet’s needs.   


“My Lord!”  


“Beg me.”  


He doesn’t obey immediately, that tension of want-not-want still strong. Poe grabs the suspenders and slams him bodily back against his groin, almost overbalancing him in this bent-over position. He grinds against him, and Kylo _trills_ in horror.

“Please, Master, **please** fuck me!”  


Oh, it’s delicious getting those words from him. Poe pulls out his vibroblade and turns it on. He feels Kylo tense, but all he’s doing is slicing though the fabric to the left of his bulge, up and into the seam. He keeps the business edge of the blade facing away as he cuts through the join in his pants. The waistband stays intact, but there’s now a slit that won’t be repaired all along the crack in his ass-cheeks. Access. 

Kylo’s vibrating like a sex toy himself, and when Poe yanks the plug out in one go, his lover _howls_ in surprised, agonised bliss. He tosses it to the floor, then unzips his own clothes and pulls out his cock. 

“Master!”  


“Gonna fuck the come out of you. You try to hold back. Try, and I’m going to do it anyway.” He knows the desire to please - both to make it last, and to show his appreciation - will tear his lover in two. The conflicting directions will white out his mind, and that’s what he wants. Kylo doesn’t need a soft, caring, sweet hand. Or… not alone. He needs the hard, punishing, fierce one, too. He needs both around his throat or he won’t ever be satisfied, and Poe can be all he needs.  


There’s a horrified (and gleeful) sob as he lines himself up. As he slaps his dick between his thighs, and then pushes into his already-open hole. The plug was just wide enough to stay in, but also long enough to satisfy him _almost_ enough. It had taken some experimenting to find the ideal one, and now Poe has several for different effects and occasions. 

Kylo is slick from the lube, and from Poe’s earlier ride of his ass, which means he slides in so easily. His Knight clenches around him, struggling to make it good, even in such a stress position. Poe loves how even now, he thinks of his Emperor, first and foremost. He uses the hand on that elasticated harness to slam Kylo back and forth on his cock. Kylo is almost falling on his face, and Poe wonders if he’s using the Force not to tipple over. Not that it matters. He’s clutching his thighs and letting Poe ride him - or use him - and that is so wonderfully hot.

His Knight’s cock is still trapped in his pants, but Poe intends to make him soil them. Kylo’s such a good little bottom that he can climax without ever being touched, and he always gets so wonderfully flustered over it. Poe finds it flattering in the extreme, and he grabs hold of his lover’s hair with his other hand, using both points of contact as leverage to snap his hips deeper and deeper. His Knight fights so hard to stay bent over, keening in protest and bliss at the rough treatment, and Poe redoubles his efforts. He’s capable of making this last all night if he wants to, but he has pity on Kylo tonight. Tonight, he wants his lover to get off, and hard, and then they can get to the cuddling stage. All of the stages are fun, but when Kylo’s reduced to a black-eyed, blissed-out, lips-parted purring is his favourite. Sometimes he only gets there after you destroy and humiliate him, and sometimes just a hard fucking and a soft word of praise is enough. 

Today he’s feeling generous, or maybe Kylo’s wanting generosity. It doesn’t matter. They fit together, like two puzzle pieces locked tight. The places he’s lacking, his lover fills, and vice-versa. He moves as fast as the position will allow, the suspenders stretching under his tugging, and the feel of Kylo’s body bent double in this position making his blood boil. “So good for me, pet. So very good. So strong, so powerful. So ready to protect me, to die for me. You would, wouldn’t you?”

“ _Yes, Master_.”   


Kylo’s tone is distant, pleased. Blurry, close to satisfaction. He’s blissing out of his head, and the aftermath is going to be glorious. 

“I don’t want you to die for me. I want you to **live** for me. By my side, always. On your knees, on your feet, in my lap, in my bed. I want you to give me your body, your soul, your very self.”  


“ _It is yours,”_  Kylo insists, and the vibrations travelling through their joined bodies tells Poe he’s close.   


“Good. You are perfect, my Knight. **Perfect**. I want you, and only you. So brave, so strong, so bright.”  


Kylo doesn’t even protest the compliments, now, which means he’s all the way down. “For you. For you. All for you.”

“Come for me,” Poe asks, as he snaps in with everything he has. Kylo tenses and hisses, words gone, as he comes in those already-ruined pants. Poe keeps on riding him for as long as he can before he, too, is coming. The climax feels less frantic than maybe it should, and he lingers for long moments in their final position. Feels the air he breathes in, the heat of the man under and around him. The tiny puddle of sweat in the curve of his back.  


Kylo. His Knight. He smiles, and pulls out. Kylo sighs sadly, but doesn’t protest. There’s a softer area to one side, where Poe sometimes reclines to watch and work. He tugs his lover up by the hair, making sure he can stand with an arm around his waist, releasing his suspenders. There’s a wobble, but no fall, and so he pulls him over to lie beside him. He pulls Kylo’s head against his chest, and drapes an arm over him protectively. His Knight is so deep under that he just rumbles in pleasure and cuddles in tightly.

Poe closes his eyes and slides a finger over the taut elastic. Kylo might need his pants adjusting. If he puts in some laces, or a zip that goes all the way, he won’t need to slice them open to have his way with him, in future. It’s most definitely a thought. Poe does so love those suspenders.


End file.
